Page 15 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“I wish you guys could have been there,” Spencer says. “But at least we have video.” He reaches for his iPhone. “I had Peter film it for posterity.” Peter is Spencer’s publicist/social media person. This explains how a statement, select clips of the performance, and the proposal appeared online and across all social media platforms within minutes of my acceptance.

He hits play and holds his iPhone up so we can view the screen and I’m relieved to see that it was shot over my shoulder so that the focus is on the cast performance and Spencer dropping down on one knee. I wonder briefly whether the angle was chosen to give me privacy or as a protective measure in case something went wrong or my answer wasn’t what he was expecting, but then I realize the reasons don’t really matter. What matters is his eagerness to make the proposal special and that he loves me enough to want to share the future with me. It’s not as if I’m unaware of his flair and larger-than-life personality—it’s that openness and enthusiasm that first attracted me. I’m not the first woman to choose a man who is in many ways her opposite.

They applaud when the video ends and Spencer stands andtakes an exaggerated bow, which is something that has clearly played out within this family many times before.

“Well done, big brother!” Molly says as the first course is served. “This is so exciting. Which venues are you considering?”

Their eyes turn to me. “Oh well, we haven’t really talked about that yet,” I stammer.

“We could have it at the Harvard Club,” Nancy suggests as if it’s just occurred to her. “The facilities are so beautiful.”

“Or how about The Plaza?” Grace asks. “It’s a classic. I spent my wedding night at The Plaza.”

I try not to wince as I think about my recent tea there with Chris.

“Ooh, I know. What about the New York Public Library?” Molly asks. “We looked at it for our wedding. And Carrie Bradshaw chose it inSex and the City. She was a writer, too.”

“Yes, but she didn’t actually get married there,” I point out. “Remember when Big just drove right by?” I don’t add that Carrie Bradshaw is a fictional character. Or that when Bree and I used to imagine our weddings, mine was always small and intimate.

“Oh, right.” She puts a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“By that line of reasoning we could have it at the Music Box.” This is the Broadway theater whereThe Music in Meis playing. “I could write a new song and have Brett choreograph it. Maybe the wedding party could perform it as we take the stage for the ceremony.” Spencer’s tone is teasing, but the reality is that while Spencer actually could appear in one of his musicals, I could not. “I don’t think I’m up for dancing up the aisle in a long white gown and heels.” Nor could I bear to have a crowd of people watch me try.

There’s no shortage of ideas, each one larger and splashier than the last. I’m grateful when the main course is served. As his rack of lamb is placed in front of him Spencer says, “As soonas I can clear my schedule we’re going down to the Outer Banks for a week, so that I can meet Lauren’s mother and see where she grew up. And Kendra’s already brought up the idea of having the wedding down there.”

“Oh, but that’s so...” Nancy stops herself just before her nose wrinkles. “I’ve certainly heard lovely things about the Outer Banks. I understand there are some very large, beautiful beach homes that can hold multiple families. But I don’t know how many of our friends or even family would be willing to travel down there. I guess it would depend on...” She cocks her head in my direction. “What date have you chosen, dear?”

The piece of lamb I’ve just put in my mouth doubles in size and threatens to choke me.

“We haven’t really discussed that yet,” Spencer says, and if my mouth weren’t still unpleasantly full of meat, I’d kiss him for not mentioning that he’s already tried to have this conversation. “There’s no need to pick a date right now, although as far as I’m concerned, the sooner, the better.” He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze and I think back to the discussion we did have about how to find a place to live that will work for both of us given that I prefer the Upper West Side and Spencer loves the West Village and that I need absolute quiet to work while Spencer’s work is often collaborative and noisy.

“Oh, of course. There’s no need to rush,” Nancy says. “There isn’t, is there?”

It takes me a moment to understand what she’s asking. When I do, I actually blush. Spencer rolls his eyes. “No, Mother. This is not a shotgun wedding. Though I wouldn’t be averse to a couple of rug rats of our own one day.”

I put down my fork. I just turned forty and while I’ve imagined menopause in the not-too-distant future, this is the first time I’ve let myself imagine having a child. Something I’d once dreamed of but more recently assumed was off the table. We eatfor a few minutes in silence if you don’t count the stream of chatter from Matthew and Mariah or the number of times their utensils clatter to the floor.

“Do you have a dress style in mind?” Molly finally asks. “Vera Wang and Carolina Herrera have salons right here on Madison. God, I loved trying on wedding gowns. There is a certain exhaustion that sets in, but I was almost sorry when I fell in love with one and the search ended.”

“Yes, what a shame,” Mac teased. “But not nearly as big a shame as what they cost, given that you’re only going to wear it once.”

I sit up and realize this is a subject I can definitely weigh in on. “Actually, there’s a wedding dress in my family that’s been worn by three generations of Jameson women.”

“Really? How quaint.”

Spencer laughs at his mother. I love his laugh and the fact that he has no problem letting it loose even on his parents. “It’s not quaint. It’s brilliant. Is that the dress your mother’s wearing in the photo in your apartment?”

I nod as I think about the wedding picture of my mother and the father I never had a chance to know, which sits on my nightstand. Brianna looked beautiful in THE DRESS, too, only I was too hurt and angry to say so.

“But how can so many people wear the same dress?” Grace asks.

“Well, it gets altered slightly for each bride and the amazing thing is, it’s always looked perfect on whoever was wearing it,” I say. “It was originally designed for my great-grandmother’s cousin Lindy. Then my grandmother wore it. And so did her sister, my great-aunt Velda. Then my mother and some of her cousins.” I can feel the smile on my lips. “I used to dream of wearing it when I was a little girl. But until Spencer dropped to his knee the other night, I never really thought I would.” I meet Spencer’s eyes and feel a shimmer of exhilaration as I picturewearing it on our wedding day. My imagination tacks on a tremor of concern about my mother’s health that it refuses to let go of then adds another, more recurring worry. Maybe she’s having financial difficulty. She has refused to let me contribute financially even though I know that sometimes she only just gets by. The only things she’s never refused are the trips I’ve planned for us or an outright gift. I tend to buy her extravagant things that she would never buy for herself, so that she can either enjoy their frivolity or return them for a refund. “I’ll be trying it on while we’re down there.”

“Send pictures,” Molly says, enthused. “A vintage gown could be very cool.”

I don’t really listen to the rest of the conversation. Every day my shock at the surprise proposal lessens and my excitement at sharing the future with Spencer grows, but I haven’t been home in more than a year. Now I’m going to have to go back and navigate the mess I’ve spent all these years trying to forget—with a fiancé in tow.

Dessert arrives. I consume the chocolate mousse without really tasting it while the conversation flows around me. I’m thinking about the trip back to Nags Head and wishing that I could rewrite the past and edit out all the mistakes I’ve made, like you can on a manuscript. And then there’s my mother’s request that we come as soon as we can, which probably means absolutely nothing, but has sent my imagination into overdrive.

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